by Henry Hack
“No, except another revolution.”
“Which you rejected last night.”
“That was before I read all this and really understood the situation we are facing. One of the things I read was written by a Marine Corps veteran. He said, ‘You will never again vote these people out of office. It will take individual acts of defiance and massive displays of civil disobedience to get back the rights we have allowed them to take away…to right this ship and restore our beloved country to its former status.’”
“And now you believe that a second American revolution is the only thing left to save the country?”
“It seems that way, Susan.”
“Let me be the fly in the ointment. We live in a representative democracy. The people – the majority of the people – have chosen to go this path. The majority rules. Who are we to argue with the choices of the voters?”
“Well said my dear, but what if the voters have been bought and manipulated and lied to in order to vote for these bastards?”
“Ah, there’s the dilemma, isn’t it? So tell me, Hopalong Cassidy, are you preparing to mount your white horse and lead the revolution?”
“Very funny. Let’s have another drink and we’ll hash this out some more. And on Wednesday, I want to run this by Vinny and Bill.”
* * *
Vinny Drake puffed out a cloud of cigar smoke and said, “Welcome to reality, Harry. Phil MacDonald was absolutely right about what is going on in this state and country as you seem to confirm with your data.”
“I agree,” Bill Shelton said, “that’s why Vinny and I are moving up the date when we’re getting out of the business.”
“And getting out of New York,” Vinny said.
“We were going to announce it to you junior partners next week, but I might as well tell you now,” Bill said. “We want out completely in six months time.”
“We don’t even want the ten percent anymore. You guys can have the whole shebang.”
Harry was shocked. Two good businessmen, two good friends, were going to cut and run just like the former mayor. He said, “Where are you going?”
“Florida,” Vinny said. “No income tax, no dividend or capital gains taxes, and low property taxes. We both plan to travel extensively before we end up six feet under.”
“So you have a big decision to make soon, my friend,” Bill said.
“What decision?”
“Are you going to come up with enough dough to increase your share of Sheldrake to one-third or are you going to bail out of here, too?”
“What’s your advice guys?”
“You don’t need our advice. You know the fucking situation. You just told us,” Bill said.
“I’ll discuss it with Susan.”
“From a guy who never had a problem making a decision in his life,” Vinny said blowing a mouthful of foul-smelling smoke into Harry’s face. “Tough hero cop, still shooting mutts in the subway, gotta discuss it with his wife. Hah!”
They all laughed at the break in tension caused by the seriousness of the matter at hand. Bill said, “Harry, sell your fifteen percent to the other two guys and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Vinny?” Harry said looking directly at him.
“Bill’s right. When over half the people in the country are on the dole, the rest of us are toast. Like in The Great Gatsby at the end of the book when one of the rich guys comes back from Europe not knowing what took place in his absence. He drives up to Gatsby’s locked gate and looks inside to the deserted Gold Coast mansion. Then it dawns on him – the party is finally over.”
Chapter Three
The big black Harley purred along Interstate 15 northbound in the right lane steadily maintaining the seventy mile per hour speed limit. To the casual driver who might have noticed the male rider, there appeared nothing unusual about him. Upon closer inspection, the man in the standard biker garb – blue denim jeans, white tee shirt, black engineer boots and black leather jacket – revealed himself to be quite different from the Hollywood version of a bad-ass thug sporting a bushy beard, substantial beer belly, wild eyes, and massive arms covered in vulgar tattoos. This man, Christopher Steadman, age forty-four, displayed a neatly-trimmed brown beard with some gray beginning to mix in. He did have tattoos – two to be exact – one on each upper arm, both hidden under the sleeves of his leather jacket, which was now making him uncomfortably warm under the May Nevada sun shining brightly just outside Las Vegas.
Christopher pulled over to the grass at his first safe opportunity and parked the Harley well away from the roadway near a sparse clump of withered trees. He stripped off his jacket and helmet and drew a bottle of water from his saddlebag and drank half of it down. As he relaxed in the clean, fresh air a white Sebring convertible bearing two twenty-something girls pulled up on the grass beside him. “You, okay?” asked the passenger – as she appraised the handsome biker, impressed by his steely, gray eyes and slim muscular build.
“I’m fine,” he said, “just taking a little break.”
“Want a cold beer?” the driver asked as she got out of the car and headed for the trunk.
Christopher thought for a moment and said. “Sure, one cold one won’t put me over the limit, and it sure would taste good in this heat.”
They introduced themselves as Carol and Debbie, fresh from spending their unemployment checks on a long shopping trip to the mall and now heading back home. “We both ride with our boyfriends once-in-awhile,” Debbie said. “Mine has a bike just like yours, only it’s candy-apple red.”
“Nice tats,” Carol said pointing to Christopher’s upper arms. You were a marine, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he said, “a lot of us got this one.”
She moved a bit closer studying the EGE – eagle atop the globe and anchor with the words Semper Fidelis on a banner in the eagle’s beak. Under the globe were the words Death before Dishonor. “What’s that Semper Fidelis mean again?” she asked.
“Always faithful. Most of the time we just say Semper Fi.”
“And are you always faithful?” Carol asked with a smile, batting her eyelids.
“Always. To God, Country and Family.”
Debbie, a voluptuous raven-haired, full-lipped heart throb said, “You mean you have a wife?”
“Yup, and a couple of kids.”
“Too bad,” Carol said forming her lips into a pout. She flipped back her long blonde hair and put her hands on her hips. “All the good ones are taken.”
“You ladies sure have made my day. A cold beer and now you’re flirting with me even though I’m too old and beat up to ever keep up with you.”
The girls laughed and Debbie said, “What do those words mean under your other tattoo?”
Christopher glanced at the American flag unfurled in all its glory on his other arm. Patrick Henry’s Give me Liberty or Give me Death stood out in clear, blue lettering. He said, “That means I’m willing to give my life to save my country.”
“Yeah, but you’re not in the marines anymore, right?”
“No, but that doesn’t change a thing.”
Christopher finished his beer, handed the bottle back to Carol and, eyeing the many bags and boxes in the back seat of their car said, “Looks like you had a good shopping day. Glad to see someone has some money these days.”
“Thank goodness for the unemployment checks, food stamps and Obamacare,” Debbie said.
“We make just as much staying home as when we worked at the casino,” Carol said.
“Get laid off?”
“Oh yeah, along with half of Las Vegas.”
“But with the unemployment extended to three years,” Debbie said, “we have a nice cushion before we have to look for a job.”
“Wouldn’t you want to start looking now, or get some job training to get a head start on your next position?”
“Why should we? As long as the government is taking care of us, we’ll enjoy the leisurely life. Uh…can you blame us?”
&nbs
p; Chris smiled and said, “No, ladies, I don’t blame you at all. Now I better be getting back on the road. I sure enjoyed our little chat, and thanks again for the beer.”
He stowed his leather jacket and got up on the bike and kick started it. Carol yelled above the rumble “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Christopher,” he said donning his helmet.
“Where are you heading?”
“Wyoming,” he said with an enigmatic smile. “I’m on a mission.”
“And what is your mission when you get there?”
“To save America.”
He motored slowly past them as Carol said, “Save America? From what, Christopher?”
“From ourselves,” he said, as he pulled out onto the concrete roadway.
“That was a little strange,” Debbie said.
“Yeah, it was, but there was something about him, something that was…believable, I guess…”
“Yeah, Carol, but I think it was his eyes that kind of hypnotized me. They were dreamy…almost like …mystical. Let’s go home. I’m a little creeped out.”
* * *
Twenty-four years earlier, Christopher Steadman, newly graduated from USC at the age of twenty-one with a degree in History, enlisted in the United States Marine Corps. The inspiration to serve his country before embarking on a career was prompted by his studies in early American history. He revered the writings, teachings, and actions of our Founding Fathers – Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Paine, Franklin, Revere, and countless others who had truly put their necks on the chopping block in order to give birth to a new nation. He felt the least he could do was to give four years service to the country they had built and sacrificed so much for.
He came out of the Corps a true believer in his training and new moral code. He was inspired to the high ideals of loyalty, service and faithfulness to God and the United States of America. There existed no doubts in his mind that America was worth fighting for – and dying for. He had not seen much action in his one year deployment to Afghanistan, which turned out to be only seven months as the war wound down sooner than expected. He was in only one firefight with some tribesman, and he might have wounded or killed one of them at a distance, but they fled taking the man with them. When he came home he knew he had been tested, and he knew he passed that test. Should his country re-call him for the next battle he would be ready, willing and able to answer that call.
Christopher’s father, the owner of a small metals manufacturing company, had wanted Christopher to join him in the business immediately after graduating from college, as his two older sons and older daughter already had. When his youngest son informed his father of his decision to join the Marine Corps, Walter Steadman, a proud veteran of service in the United States Navy, smiled and said, “Good for you, Chris. I’m proud of you, but the navy may be an easier gig.”
“I’m not looking for easy, Dad. I’m looking to work hard for my country.”
“Oh, you’ll do that in the Corps, that’s for sure. And I’m sure Mainstay Metals will still be here when you get out – if that’s where you want to end up.”
“I’m not sure. I mean, to be with you and my brothers and sister would be great, but I’m just not sure.”
“Well, we will cross that bridge when you get out. And if you choose otherwise, I’m sure you’ll be a success wherever you go, with whatever you do.”
“Thanks, Dad. Thanks for your support.”
“Semper Fi, son,” he said, patting Chris on the back.
* * *
Christopher Steadman did join his family at Mainstay Metals after his stint in the Marine Corps and learned the business from the bottom up as had his brothers Greg and Bill and his sister, Linda. He also enrolled in the night school program at his alma mater for his master’s degree in American History and Government. Between work and school Christopher had little time for dating and socializing, but he eventually got serious with a girl from his class on the U.S. Constitution, Pauline Williams, which pleased his parents no end.
Walter and Emily Steadman had been concerned about their youngest child, chiefly because he was so different from the first three. Not that Christopher was bad, or wild, or in trouble – no, it was his independent attitude – a bit of a rebel in him always questioning the status quo, always pushing the envelope. Now it seemed the Marine Corps had trained him, molded him somewhat, and they hoped he was now ready to settle down and raise a family as their other children already had.
The Steadman’s had taken an instant liking to Pauline, a dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty, who taught history at the local high school, and when Christopher told them that Pauline had agreed to marry him six months hence, they were ecstatic. This final union would complete their second great mission in life – to see all four of their children happily married and settled down near them producing grandchildren. Their first mission in life had already been accomplished in building, with much sweat and worry, a successful, thriving, small business in the mild climate of sunny southern California.
Mainstay Metals employed sixty-seven people, all well-paid and supplied with a superb benefit package. Walter Steadman was the boss with the title of President. Emily, who had always put raising her children ahead of business concerns, now spent more time in the office busying herself with the numerous compliance forms and regulations imposed on all businesses by the federal and state government, which became exceptionally tedious when the work they performed was under a government contract.
Greg, a CPA, was the firm’s chief financial officer. Bill was head of manufacturing, with Christopher as his assistant, and Linda was the office manager. Business was good and relatively stable. They never had to lay off an employee and they never had any labor troubles in their non-union shop. Their raw materials – steel, copper, aluminum, titanium, brass, zinc – came in and finished products – cams, pawls, gears, tools, appliance shells, and electrical fixtures – went out. They made a good profit, but not an excessive one. Enough to help their children through college, assist them in the purchase of their first homes, give them steady jobs, and put some away for their grandkids education. All was going very well, that is until California almost went bankrupt, and Obamacare arrived on the scene with a vengeance.
At the family’s monthly meeting, Greg addressed the financial situation they were now facing with great concern. He said, “Here’s the picture. We have over fifty employees and must therefore provide healthcare coverage under the new guidelines of Obamacare. Although we provide very good coverage for our people, we now have to cover pre-existing conditions, free contraceptive drugs and devices and several other coverages which will substantially raise our premiums.”
“By how much?” Walter asked.
“Approximately $3500 per employee, per year.”
They were silent for several seconds as they all mentally calculated the damage – about $295,000. Greg continued, “The increase in business taxes imposed by the state, because we gross over $500,000 in sales, will amount to another $95,000.”
“What do these increases mean to our business operations?” Emily asked.
“Something’s got to give. There are several options like reducing the workforce to forty-nine to get out from under Obamacare…”
“We never laid off an employee in all the years we ran this business,” Walter said, “and I’m not going to start now. What else can we do?”
Across the board salary cuts – including all of us. If we explain the situation to our workforce and let them know we are sharing the burden, I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“Any other options?” Linda asked.
“None that I can think of now.”
“He told me this was going to happen,” Christopher said, “and now it has hit home.”
“What are you talking about?” his brother Bill asked.
“My company commander in the Corps – Captain O’Grady. He warned me that the direction our country was going was going to destroy it. He talked a
bout Obamacare, food stamps, high taxes, government handouts – the whole liberal, big government concept – and claimed if it wasn’t reversed soon we had only a few decades left as a nation.”
“It looks like he was right on target.”
“He made a believer out of me, but it just smacked me between the eyes right now. You know, O’Grady tried to keep me in the Corps. He wanted me to go to officer’s training school in the worst way. ‘This is where you want to be when the shit hits the fan,’ he told me – ‘armed to the teeth with the greatest fighting force on earth’”
“Let’s not get all doom and gloom over this,” their father said. “We have a problem and a solution. Let’s lay it out to our people tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
The following morning, when all Mainstay employees were assembled on the factory floor, the boss himself explained the situation the company was in with no sugar-coating. He concluded, “This Company has an annual payroll of $2,800,000. We need to trim $340,000 or 12%, and I plan to do it equally across the board for all of us, including me and my family members.”
A shipping clerk raised his hand and asked, “What about annual raises going forward? I’m due for my review in a month.”
Greg responded, “We have to freeze all salaries as is unless business increases.”
“And how is business doing, Walter?” asked a senior machinist who had been with the company since its inception. “Well Frank, we are down a few points from last year,” he said determined not to lie to his workers.
“What about that layoff option you mentioned?” asked a junior draftsman. “Suppose you cut eighteen of us to get to the magic number. Would that solve the problem?”
“Yes,” Greg said, “but my father and the rest of the family have no desire to let anyone go. How could you even think of having eighteen of your fellow employees go without a job?”
“Why don’t you let us decide that?” Frank said.